Fuge
by dazedkitten
Summary: COMPLETE 'This is it, Potter,' the reptilian voice hissed menacingly. 'Here we are,' Harry replied. Fuge Ch4: Disappearance: 'They'll crucify you: the Ministry and the Media. You have to leave,' She said, 'Take me with you.' Violence, Character death.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All recognizable aspects of this story are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. No money is being made from this story.

Fuge

Confrontation

"This is it, Potter," the reptilian voice hissed menacingly. Voldemort's eyes flashed, reflecting the bright light that shone down in the center of the chamber where the two were standing. Harry had always pictured this confrontation taking place in some dark, dank place; yet, here they were, standing in the centre of a dry stone room, the roof missing right in the centre, allowing the midday sun to shine in unhindered. Harry wondered if this was irony, a dark confrontation taking place in a circle of brilliant light.

"Here we are," Harry replied to Voldemort.

"Drawn by the same prophecy, pawns in a game that is not of our making. Who will win? Perhaps it is already ordained," Voldemort stepped a little closer, his wand held by a steady hand. There was no doubt as to who Voldemort believed was ordained to win.

"No," Harry disagreed. "We are here because of the choices we have made. You chose to destroy lives, and I have been given the power to stop you from destroying more of what I hold dear. So, that is what I shall do."

Voldemort chuckled. "These two options are not exclusive opposites. Had the prophecy not been spoken, you would not have been given the power to stop me."

Harry shook his head; he could feel Voldemort's mind creeping around his own, seeking a way in.

"Ah, Harry," Voldemort sighed affectionately. "You seem to oppose everything I say merely on principle. You do not weigh things up and make your own decisions. You simply react." Without utterance, nor apparent warning, Voldemort threw a curse.

Harry blocked it instinctively, and as the two spells met, they created the golden, glowing tug-of-war that Harry had first seen in his fourth year.

Voldemort, it seemed, had prepared for this. He thrust hard and fast, hoping to catch Harry unprepared and have the battle over quickly. The pearl of spitting gold power slid at a frightening speed toward Harry.

However, it seemed that Harry had also been ready for this. Not six inches from his fingers, the bead stopped abruptly. Hissing power spluttered from the point where the beams were joined, but no amount of Voldemort's supreme effort could budge the bead any closer.

Slowly, slowly, the bead of power began to inch its way back toward Voldemort. There was sweat on the pseudo-man's skin, but no amount of snarling would stop the crackling pearl of power in its progress.

Voldemort seemed to be waiting for something. He glanced around at the shadowed columns that surrounded the outer rim of the brightly lit arena. But his glances were unrewarded, and the bead continued its slow slide.

Harry could feel the Dark Lord's horror, his terror at his immanent downfall. Harry felt a shock of thought pass through the bond between them: had someone had betrayed him? Harry chose not to inform the man that nobody had betrayed him, instead leaving him to think what he chose.

Instead of elation, Harry felt almost as horrified as Voldemort. He was winning, Harry was winning, but there was no joy in the knowledge.

Because this was murder, what he was going to do. He knew it; and he knew that he was no better than this man before him, who had murdered so many times.

Dumbledore had shown him so many things during his sixth year at Hogwarts, but it had taken him a long while to discover what he had been trying to communicate. Love, the stronger force that Voldemort knew not. It was love that had him here, doing this. Oh, yes, love for all the people he knew were still alive, love and vengeance for those whom Voldemort had killed. But also love for this creature before him.

It had been such a terrifying thought when he had first encountered it. He'd been at Privet Drive, readying to leave. Vernon and Dudley were watching TV in the other room, ignoring him completely. But Petunia had stood at the door. _"I just want you to know,"_ she had said, _"that I never really hated you. What you represented, yes. Terrified of you, yes. But I tried to love you, Harry."_ He had laughed at that, but she had narrowed her eyes. _"It's a difficult thing to do, Harry. Take in someone who had potential powers that I couldn't understand, who could destroy my family and everyone I loved. I never understood you, Harry, and I was terrified of you. I never liked you, either; you didn't seem to realize just how hard it was to be non-magical and be expected to raise you. How are you supposed to punish someone who could turn you into a smoldering ash-heap if he disliked it? But I did try to love you."_

"_How could you love someone you didn't like?"_ He had scoffed, eyeing his Aunt in distaste.

"You don't have to like someone to love them, Harry. You just have to want what's best for them. Liking someone can get in the way of that, even. Because doing the loving thing is sometimes harder than doing the nice thing. Putting Dudley on a diet was one of the hardest things I've ever done – besides taking you in, that is – but it was the loving thing to do. I knew that, of course; but it was harder than making you eat well, because I liked Dudley, and I didn't like you. But I did try, Harry, to do what I thought was right."

Harry hadn't known what to say to that; had simply taken his luggage and left. But her words had haunted him. _You don't have to like someone to love them. You just have to do what you think is best for them._

So he was here, trying to love Tom Riddle. All the memories that Dumbledore had shown him helped a lot. The horror of Riddle's past – the abuse, the abandonment, the confusion – was in some ways so similar to his own experience. And yet, the choices they had made were so different. Riddle had chosen to destroy, to take vengeance for the wrongs that had been perpetuated to him. Harry had chosen not to do so.

But for a few choices, Harry knew – a few friends, a few older people who were willing to take the time to talk with him – he would have ended up the same as this twisted phantom of a man. Harry had compassion on this man: so alone and terrified.

He didn't like him. But he chose to try to love him. Tom Riddle had been a man – still was a man – and he was causing himself great harm by the choices he had made. He was causing others great harm by the choices he had made. And, Harry knew, the only loving thing to do was to stop him. And Riddle wouldn't be stopped by anything other than permanent death.

Murder was not something that Harry could do lightly. It was only the sure knowledge that this was love, this was the only loving thing that he could do, that kept the bead of power moving determinedly toward Voldemort.

Harry could feel Voldemort's confusion and horror over his inability to cease the movement of the bead. The golden sparks were nearing him, and only the knowledge that he was doomed anyway – damn Lucius for not showing up! – that kept his effort pouring through his wand into the golden fray. Five inches. Four. Three.

Potter began to speak. When Voldemort looked up, the calm look on his face told him that he had lost. "I understand you, Tom Riddle," he said. "I forgive you for what you've done. For who you've become. But I cannot let you continue to torture yourself this way. I cannot let you continue to destroy. There is no other way. This is the end, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Voldemort may have replied, but it was at that very moment that the bead of pulsating power slid back into his wand. The arcing light that had joined the two wands abruptly terminated, leaving Voldemort alone with the bead of crackling golden light. It crept down his wand, and began to engulf his hand, his arm, his torso in brilliant light. Voldemort could do nothing: the light engulfed every appendage of his body, and – when Harry was beginning to wonder what was going to happen – there was a flare of heat, and Voldemort disintegrated.

Harry Potter realized that he had fallen to his knees, the stab of pain of Voldemort's demise had ricocheted through their link. Now, there was only emptiness. Harry began to cry. Maybe it was for Voldemort, maybe for his own shattered innocence; but mostly, Harry suspected, it was simply shock.

Kneeling in the middle of the sun-drenched stone, Harry Potter cried his heart out.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All recognizable aspects of this story are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. No money is being made from this story.

Treachery

Ginny rushed through the dark tunnel. Harry had disappeared again – not so unusual, these days; he refused to tell his friends very much at all. She'd known, though. She'd heard the _pop_ as he'd apparated. It had taken her a couple of minutes to trace the direction he'd taken, the location he'd apparated to.

She'd discovered herself in a dark cavern – dry, and flat-floored with stone. A corridor had led toward some source of light, so she had followed it. She'd heard Harry begin to cry, and had begun to rush. Arriving at the large circular cavern, she paused in the shadows behind the columns that encircled the brightly-lit centre of the room. Harry was crying, but behind him – as yet unnoticed by Harry – stood Lucius Malfoy. There was a small smile of victory on his face, and, before Ginny could properly take in the situation, green light flew from Malfoy's wand to hit Harry squarely in the back. Lifeless, he toppled forward, his wand clattering to the side. Malfoy stepped forward and picked it up.

"Potter," he inclined his head toward the dark-haired boy sprawled on the ground. "Such a good job. Too bad you're too dead to appreciate it."

Something overtook Ginny. A roaring sound thudded in her ears, and red mist fringed her vision. Thought fled from her as her body began to move toward the blond man.

He looked up as she launched herself at him. He almost smirked, but then he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. The wands he had held clattered to the ground. Ginny stood, panting, in front of Lucius Malfoy. She didn't know exactly how she had crossed the few feet between them. Her hand was warm, and Malfoy was looking down between them. She followed his eyes.

The warmth on her hand was his blood. In her fury, she had thrust her wand straight into his chest. By pure, stupid luck she had missed his ribs, and perhaps even penetrated his heart. Shock numbed her feet, her thoughts, while adrenaline pumped through her, causing her to tremble.

Something dark on the floor caught her eye. Harry's hair. His face, flat against the ground. The fury that had propelled her across the room did not return, but tempered rage burned in her heart. Raising her eyes to Lucius' face – which was white with shock – she hardened her heart. Slowly, deliberately, she twisted her wand, and ripped it out viciously.

Blood gushed out, spurting with arterial flow. Malfoy fell to his knees, then fell sideways, away from Harry. Blood continued to gush out of him, pooling on the cold, grey stone and seeping into his expensive robes. Ginny stood for a moment, watching the horror she had perpetrated. She wiped her sticky hands on her robes, but they were still smeared with red stains when she looked at them.

Then she saw Harry again, crumpled on the floor. His destiny had been fulfilled. He was not supposed to die. He was supposed to truly live!

Ginny crumpled to the ground beside Harry, and cried her heart out.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All recognizable aspects of this story are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. No money is being made from this story.

Fuge

Discovery

Snape and Malfoy appeared in the dark antechamber, small echoes of the sudden displacement of air resonating around them. Malfoy looked to Snape, who was intently studying the surrounds. Granite, smoothly worked, fitted into blocks. The floor was made of this, and the walls; the roof was natural stone. No exits, here: just four dark, cold walls. One passageway to the North, with light seeping from it. Snape inclined his head towards the passage, and the men cautiously crept along.

The passageway was perhaps five hundred feet, gently curving to the right. Sobbing brought them up short before the end of the passage. Snape held up a hand, signalling that Malfoy should wait. Creeping around the corner, Snape took in the beautifully worked pillars, the natural-looking hole in the roof allowing midday light to stream down onto the centre of the room.

The brightly-lit tableau in the centre of the room was impossible to ignore. The sobbing was coming from a red-haired witch, the youngest Weasley. She was huddled over a body – that of Potter, Snape realised with a lurch. And beside them both lay Lucius Malfoy in a pool of his own blood. A pile of ashes on scorched stone sat perhaps ten feet from the body of Potter. Steadying himself with the wall, he realised this was Voldemort. The battle was over already.

A noise behind him alerted Snape to the fact that Malfoy hadn't stayed behind as he had been instructed to. The corridor was not so wide as to allow Malfoy to rush past without passing through the reach of Snape, who grabbed the boy's arm, wresting him to a halt and wrapping his arms around his struggling form. Luckily, the scuffle was not heard by the red-haired Weasley in the centre of the room.

After a few moments of tussling – when Snape was not sure who would win out – Snape managed to point his wand at his charge and immobilise him. Malfoy stiffened, his eyes glaring at Snape accusingly. Snape pulled a small mirror out of an inner pocket and whispered into it for a few moments. He then turned back to Malfoy.

"Look at what has happened, Draco," he hissed to his charge. "Read the situation."

Snape turned to look at the scene, taking Malfoy's eyes with him. "Potter is here. This is what the Dark Lord told me of – Potter, in his pride, would come alone to seek to defeat him. And so he did. The Dark Lord, however, sought your father and I to ensure the outcome. Told us of the location, the time. It is fifteen minutes past the time which he told us he would confront the whelp. And it seems that our Dark Lord has perished – the scorched stone, the ash there… yes, all that is left. Obviously your father had as much intent of helping our Dark Lord succeed as I did.

"But, your father, it seems, was intent on taking some credit. He killed Potter – hit him in the back, probably with the killing curse. It seems he was looking to his reputation after this war; with Potter dead, he could safely say that the Dark Lord killed him and he, out of some good motive, chose that moment to turn on the Dark Lord; killing him whilst he gloried over his victory.

"However, it seems that the Weasley girl noticed the Potter boy's disappearance. She is covered with your father's blood." Snape turned to look at the Malfoy who stood immobile beside him. "Killing her will not be to our – or your – advantage. She will be seen as a hero, undoubtedly. If you kill her – however justified you are – you will be a criminal. Do you understand, Draco?"

He met Malfoy's eyes, and despite the anger and grief there, he could also see understanding. Snape released the body bind. "We will have to leave soon. Mourn your father."

Malfoy nodded to Snape, stepped into the room and went to his father's side. Blood was spilled all over the floor, congealing already. Malfoy knelt beside his father, pushed his hair out of his face. Closed his father's eyes, and closed his own to halt the tears that sought to spill out.

Snape could see the emotions warring in Malfoy's face. Could almost put commentary to them: he had never lived up to his father's expectations. Now, he would never be able to hear his father say that he was proud of him, that he loved him. His father had done many unforgivable things, and now Malfoy couldn't argue with him about them – he could only accept that his father had done those things. His tears were silent, and the Weasley girl didn't even notice the company she had.

Tears slid down Malfoy's face and soaked into his father's robes, pain in his chest like his heart had been ripped out.


	4. Chapter 4

Disappearance

Hermione had seen Molly pull out the mirror from her robes, a startled look on her face, not twenty minutes ago. Bemusement had quickly turned to anxiety, and she had looked up, seen Hermione, and said, _'Hermione – get Ron and Arthur please. We need to go somewhere. Now.'_

So, they had gathered, Molly – flustered and fretting – told them that they would be apparating to a location they didn't know. _'Mum, how do we do that?'_ Ron had asked. Molly looked at a loss for a moment, but then Arthur came to her rescue.

'_Don't worry, Ron. Molly and I know how to do it. You can side-along apparate with us.'_ Molly had instantly seemed less flustered. Hermione had clung to Molly's arm as they apparated, wishing she knew more about what was going on.

They had arrived in a cold, dark stone room. There was no dust on the floor, she noticed. And there was only one corridor leading from the room – apparently this was a wizarding location. They followed the corridor slowly, Hermione and Ron absorbing the cautious mood of the older witch and wizard.

They neared the source of the light which seeped down the gently-curving corridor without anything happening, and Ron seemed about to say something stupid. Hermione, after being his friend for seven years – and his girlfriend for six months – could tell the look on his face, and silently held a hand up at him, silencing him before he spoke.

A shadow moved, to their left, and all four had wands out before Molly sighed and lowered her wand.

"Snape," she said quietly.

Sure enough, when the shadow moved close enough to them, they could see that it was, indeed, Professor Snape. Ron launched himself at the wizard before any of them could do anything; but Snape seemed capable enough of removing the boy from himself. Somehow Ron ended up with his arm behind his back, facing his parents with a painful grimace on his face.

"Oi," Ron said loudly, and was shushed by all the people around. But Ron was not to be silenced. "Why aren't you doing anything? This is Dumbledore's murderer, and you're all just standing there? He's probably going to kill me, and you're doing nothing!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron, though she was considering the same line of thought. Molly and Arthur seemed to not be worried by Snape in the slightest.

"What did I ever do to be cursed with such imperceptiveness in my children?" Molly hissed. "We're here at Severus' request. He has been our inside man in the Death Eaters for decades. Dumbledore's death was terrible, but understandable. Snape could do nothing to betray his position at that point; he had to do what he had to do."

"But," Ron spluttered, his eyes wide in imperception. "But, the whole Order was about Dumbledore!"

Arthur replied this time. "No, Ron – the Order is about bringing He Who Must Not Be Named down. It was Dumbledore's dream, yes. But he wasn't irreplaceable – he couldn't be. If anyone was irreplaceable, then we'd never have gotten this far. Dumbledore knew that; he ensured that it was that way."

Hermione nodded slowly, but still kept her eyes trained on Snape.

Snape raised an eyebrow, asking silently if they'd finished their conversation.

"Why are we here, sir?" Hermione asked, almost cursing her good manners as Ron glared daggers at her.

Snape regarded her for a moment, before replying. "Around this corner, the final battle was fought." Ron struggled a bit at that moment, but Snape just shifted his arm a little further up his back, and Ron once again became motionless because of the pain. "The Dark Lord is no more." He paused. They waited. "Lucius got away from me. It took me a couple of minutes to realise that this would be the place to which he would be coming, and in that time I had collected Draco from…" He stopped, glancing back at her, before continuing. "We apparated here, and were too late to do anything."

Molly was grimacing into Arthur's shoulder, and Hermione felt dread settle like stone in the bottom of her gut. Ron struggled a bit, and said, "Where is Malfoy? And what do you mean, 'too late'?"

"I am sick of your impetuous questions, boy," Snape growled, thrusting Ron away. Ron jerked his arm around to his chest and began rubbing it furiously. Hermione ignored him and continued to watch Snape.

"Perhaps you should leave the boy here?" he directed at Molly and Arthur, but Molly shook her head.

"Leaving him here would be worse."

"You haven't seen the room," Snape replied, glancing over his shoulder.

Molly's shoulders slumped, and Hermione felt the dread in her stomach tighten again.

"Will you tell us what to expect, sir?" Hermione asked, not really expecting any answer except more daggers from Ron.

Ron didn't disappoint, glaring at her again. Snape looked over his shoulder again. "There is nothing I could say which would prepare you for what lies in that room." Then he turned his back on them and led them down the remaining stretch of corridor. Ron fingered his wand, and Hermione resolutely plucked it from his fingers. More daggers, but he kept his mouth shut this time.

They entered a large, round room. There were tall fluted columns standing in a circle around a hole in the roof. Brilliant sunlight streamed down into the centre of the room, almost blinding Hermione's eyes to the shadows in which they still stood.

Ginny was there, that was what Hermione noticed first; the young witch's vibrant red hair catching the sun. Her shoulders were shaking, and she was bent over…

Hermione shoved her hand over her mouth so that her gasp of surprise would be less thunderous in the silence. Harry Potter – her friend of seven years, her almost-brother – was crumpled, face-first on the stone floor.

The second thing to catch her eye was a blond-haired boy crying silently on a blond-haired man who was lying on his side in a pool of blood. Hermione assumed it was his own. Ginny hadn't noticed them, it seemed.

Finally, Hermione tore her eyes away from the blood to spot the charred floor ten feet away, and the ash that lay upon it.

Ron seemed about to rush into the room, when Snape restrained him again. Arthur and Molly were dumbfounded.

"Go to your daughter," he said to them. They obeyed, shock halting their need for answers.

Ron struggled, and Hermione was momentarily impressed that Snape restrained the tall, lanky boy who was empowered by adrenaline.

"Weasley," he grunted, "What do you plan on doing?"

"Killing that bastard who killed Harry," Ron replied.

"You're too late; your sister has already done that."

"Then I'll kill his son!"

"I will kill you before you go two steps, and then your parents will be grieving you as well as Potter."

Ron struggled a little more, before he slumped, defeated. "What do I do, then?"

"Go to your sister and parents." Snape let him go, and Ron trudged to his family, who had joined Ginny.

Hermione knew that she should be crying. Harry… Harry, who had always been getting them into trouble, Harry who was so impulsive, Harry who could keep his mouth shut and keep secrets, often for too long… Harry, who had been her best friend for seven years… Harry was dead. Dead in victory, dead when he should be living, finally.

But shock had made her numb, and her mind began to analyse the situation. Harry – a hero, killed He Who Must Not Be Named. Malfoy, evil Death Eater, had killed him in his victory. Ginny had materialised from somewhere and killed Malfoy. Snape and Malfoy – the other Malfoy – had arrived, and, somehow, Ginny was still alive. Snape had called Molly, and now she was here…

It wouldn't be long before the Ministry noticed the power that had been expended in this region. Aurors would be crawling all over the place before long, trying to figure out what had happened. Then the media would turn up.

Hermione grimaced at the thought of Rita Skeeter buzzing around the scene, asking Aurors for their opinions of what had happened, all the time her Quick-notes Quill writing complete falsities…

Hermione looked over at Snape, who was also surveying the scene. They'd kill him. Crucify him; make him their scapegoat, because they'd caught nobody else. Ginny didn't count – she had killed a known Death Eater, and Harry's killer. There was no way she'd be prosecuted. She'd probably be given an Order of Merlin.

But Snape? And Malfoy? Traitors, both of them. And Snape was a murderer… And the things that the Prophet would write… Hermione winced for them both, despite her dislike.

And, suddenly, Hermione didn't want to be here when the media arrived. She didn't want to be questioned by Aurors. The numbness of shock gave way to a fully-fledged 'flight' response, and all she wanted to do was leave. She calmed herself with deep breaths, trying to think through her options.

"You'll have to leave, you know," Hermione stated.

Snape didn't reply, though Hermione knew he had heard her.

"They'll crucify you – the Ministry and the media."

"Miss Granger, your talent for stating the obvious is not lost on me."

She ignored that. "Take me with you," she said.

Snape turned to look at her. "Why on earth would I take you with me?"

"I don't want to be in this anymore – this world of Harry, and lies and politics… I just… don't think I can cope."

"Why is this my problem, Miss Granger?"

Hermione gritted her teeth for a moment, refusing to give up. "Because I have no experience with running. I would probably end up making front page of the Prophet when they found me, and then it'd be worse than if I had hung around here."

Snape said nothing, returning his gaze to his godson. Hermione turned as well, not quite knowing what else to say.

"Go to your friends, Miss Granger," Snape said after a few moments.

Hermione shrugged. "What good will I do there? Cry a bit, you'll disappear with Malfoy and then we'll be left to face the media. I don't want to take that path."

Snape resumed his silent appraisal of Malfoy. Hermione glanced at him, but, seeing no answer forthcoming, turned to watch Arthur pull Ginny into his arms. Molly finally seemed to have noticed Malfoy, and she walked over to him. Hermione thought there would be disaster, for a moment; but Molly simply pulled the boy into an embrace. Malfoy seemed a little shocked for a moment; but his need to grieve was stronger than his ingrained loathing of all that the Weasleys' stood for.

Snape cast a glance at her, then seemed to make up his mind about something and stepped forward into the brightly-lit arena. Hermione watched him go to Molly – who was holding a weeping Malfoy – and begin to speak quietly with her. Seeing Ron standing forlornly beside Harry's face-down body, Hermione walked over to him quietly.

When he noticed her, he gave her a strange, sad smile. Hermione – who had been going to hug him, give him some sort of support – stopped short.

"Hermione," he said softly. "I… It's over, you know? This war? Harry won. But… Winning wasn't enough. I feel like our whole…" he gestured between Hermione and himself, "thing has been a battle. And… I sort of feel like, even if we won, winning wouldn't be enough. One of us would die. Not really die, but, sort of… Die inside. I don't want to be like that. And I don't want you to be like that, either."

Hermione stared at him. Ron – sweet, silly, safe Ron – had somehow become someone different. She'd never heard him speak like this. For a moment, Hermione thought about begging him to back up, to not… finish this.

But she glanced down at Harry – and over at Snape, who was now talking with both Arthur and Molly. Ginny was staring at the man she'd killed with horror, as if seeing for the first time what she'd done. Malfoy was watching her strangely.

"Ron, I…" for a moment, Hermione had no idea what to say. "I'm going away. This, this situation is going to explode – there'll be a media frenzy. I'm so sick of all the publicity. So sick of being… Well, famous. For doing nothing. I just need to leave it all." Ron smiled that small, sad smile at her again. He looked down at Harry, then he walked over to his parents. Hermione followed.

Molly reached over to Ginny, gave her a fierce hug. "Ginny, dear, take your robes off." Ginny stared at her mother, but began taking her outer robe off her shoulders. "Put it on Ron, here you go…"

Ginny was soon wearing Ron's too-large robes, and he was dressed in her blood-stained, slightly-tight-across-the-shoulders robes. "Wands, as well," Molly commanded, and Ginny handed over her soiled wand to her brother, who gave her his own. Arthur hugged Ginny, kissed the top of her head.

"You go with Snape, Ginny. We'll stay here, handle the Ministry." Molly nodded at Ginny, tears building up in her eyes.

Ginny looked down at her hands, which were still smeared with Malfoy's blood. She nodded at her mum.

"When everything calms down a bit, we'll send you an owl." Arthur's tight embrace, however, told of his disbelief of his own statement.

Snape stood back a bit, with Malfoy. Ginny walked over to Snape, not quite knowing what to expect. Snape looked over at Hermione, raised an eyebrow.

_Now or never,_ Hermione thought to herself. She strode the three steps to stand with them. Ginny clung to her arm.

"Hermione… you don't have to…" Molly said urgently, taking a step toward her. Hermione nodded her head slowly.

"Yes, I do have to go." Molly, seeing her stubborn look, sighed.

"Take good care of my little girl," Molly admonished, though Hermione was not quite sure who she was speaking to. Molly turned into Arthur's arms, her shoulders shaking.

"Go," Arthur said softly. "They'll be here, soon."

Snape turned, walked back to the corridor. Malfoy, Ginny and Hermione followed. Hermione raised her head to ask, "Why couldn't we just…"

"Anti-apparition wards." Snape replied over her. He rushed them, until they were trotting to keep up with his long strides. He stopped abruptly in the antechamber, glancing around to make sure no Ministry officials had arrived yet.

"Draco," he commanded, holding his hands out. Malfoy grabbed his hands with no embarrassment. "You two, in the middle."

Hermione and Ginny were crowded into the space between Snape and Malfoy. For a split moment, Hermione wondered if she'd made the right choice.

"Hold on," Snape commanded, and Hermione gingerly grabbed Snape's forearms. Concentration creased the man's face, and a creeping, prickling sensation crept up her arms. Then, they were gone.

The chamber echoed for a few moments. But, when the first Aurors began to arrive, there was not even a mote of dust out of place to suggest that they had ever been there.


End file.
